


Safety In My Nightmares

by FictionQuxxn



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artistic License, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Light Angst, Medical Inaccuracies, Multi, Older Man/Younger Woman, Original Character Death(s), POV Female Character, POV Shane Walsh, Possessive Shane Walsh, Pregnancy, Protective Shane Walsh, Shane Walsh Lives, Slow To Update, Swearing, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-12-09 00:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11657502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionQuxxn/pseuds/FictionQuxxn
Summary: "This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper." - T.S. EliotThe story of a young woman trying to survive and protect as many as she can in this new hellish world. She gave up on religion and human decency long ago and knows that the only person she can ever trust is herself. But when her unwitting interference changes the fate of Shane Walsh, she finds herself stuck with him when he is unwilling to let her strike out alone. They have to learn to trust each other for the sake of survival in the smoking ruins of their world; but that trust soon develops into something deeper when they each find the other becoming their sole purpose for living.





	1. Prologue

_“You have to have men who are moral, and at the same time, who are able to utilize their primordial instincts to kill without feeling, without passion, without judgement; without Judgement, because it’s judgement that defeats us.”_

_\- Kurtz, Apocalypse Now  
_

**< <<O>>>**

_“In sum, we are expediters of the apocalypse. There is nothing left to save, if there ever was anything… if there ever could be. All we desire (in all our bitterness) is to go to our ruin **in**_ **_our own way_ ** _– with a little style and a lot of noise."_

_-Thomas Ligotti, The Nightmare Network_

**< <<O>>>**

  _"You know how sometimes you tell yourself that you have a choice, but really you don't have a choice? Just because there are alternatives doesn't mean they apply to you."  
_

_\- Rick Yancy, The 5th Wave_

 


	2. Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's how I picture the characters if anyone is interested. Of course, you can imagine them however you would like.
> 
> Giuliana (Ana) Morillo [20] - https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMTM2OTIzMzEzNl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMDg3OTUxOQ@@._V1_UY317_CR48,0,214,317_AL_.jpg  
> Bella Morillo [25] - https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BNTE4MmRhNjctMDMwNS00M2RkLTliNmQtZjM2ODNkMWMxMTk2XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMjQwMDg0Ng@@._V1_SY1000_SX800_AL_.jpg  
> Carlos Correa [25] - https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BNjUzMjEyZTMtNDA1MS00MTM2LTg1OGItNTRlOTRiZTg3ODRhXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNjkyMzE0NDE@._V1_.jpg  
> Hugo Andino [23] - https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/a2/7e/b4/a27eb4de52bd108eaa6489296e0007e8.png
> 
> NOTE!!! - I'm putting Shane's age at about 30. His comic age is meant to 25 or so, and Jon Bernthal was in his mid 30's when Season 2 was filmed, so I've gone about in the middle to try to minimise the age gap as much as possible. At the same time, Shane doesn't come across as a man in his 20's to me. He seemed happy but experienced in the few pre-apocalypse clips we've seen of him, and everything he's gone through has definitely aged him and darkened his personality I feel. I hope the age change doesn't bother too many hard-core fans.

“Shit man shit, what do we do?!” Hugo hissed, wide panicked eyes roving over the glass front of the convenience store. The herd had swarmed the street without warning, some of the muertos pressing up against the doors and windows of buildings, a majority of them milling in the street. But the numbers were large enough that they couldn’t fight their way out; they had been stranded for hours already, and night was swiftly approaching.

“Man shut the fuck up. Last thing we need is them hearing us and punching through that glass.”

Carlos was about as terrified as Hugo, if not more, but he couldn’t show that. He was the one in charge, and that meant knowing what to do, protecting people. But he was desperate to leave and get back to their shitty little cabin. The store had been a bust, and Carlos wasn’t too keen to fight his way back through the forest needlessly just to return with one bag of jerky and a few rolls of toilet paper. Hugo had mentioned some shit about children’s medicines behind the counter, but those were luxuries they didn’t need to focus on right now.

He was far more concerned about the women back home. He had managed to knock up his girlfriend Bella about 5 months before all this mess started, and her little bitch of a sister Giuliana hadn’t stopped hating him since the test came in positive, that hatred only having intensified after outbreak. Never mind the fact that Carlos practically had to drag Hugo into the highly dangerous downtown area to break into the Morillo’s apartment and fight their way back out to safety and Hugo’s pick-up; Giuliana had seemed to be on a crusade of hate against him and his decisions ever since. Each time they came back from scavenging she seemed to find a problem with every little thing he had picked up.

‘What do you mean you left the water keg behind; what if someone takes it before tomorrow?!’ ‘We need fresh underwear more than fucking deodorant!’ ‘You thought picking me up some books was more important than a sewing kit for, oh I don’t know, doing stitches?’

She was probably whispering more toxic bullshit into her older sister’s ear by the minute, and if they weren’t careful the men could get back and find all their supplies gone, along with the two girls and the car.

So Carlos was eager to leave as soon as possible using the most risk free route possible.

“Let’s check the back exit again, see if any of them have cleared away from the-”

**WHUMP**

“…”

There was a moment of stiff silence in which even the muertos outside seemed to quiet down for a moment, allowing the two men to hear the gentle scraping of footsteps inching across the roof before the loud groans and grunting obscured the sound. Carlos’s eyes immediately flew to the skylight; the mystery survivor’s target entrance point.

He furiously beckoned at Hugo to back up, motioning for him to circle around to the opposite end of the aisle so they had the person surrounded. As Hugo quietly shuffled away, Carlos drew the pistol from his belt and kept it loosely pointed at the floor under the skylight while he peered around the shelving unit.

He practically jumped out of his skin when the hatch was pulled open by a thin arm and a line of rope was tossed to the floor. The person climbed over the edge of the sky light, winding their arm through the rope while still hanging on with one hand. They dropped softly to the floor, landing in a low crouch while a free hand went to tug a long tactical knife from their belt.

And if Carlos hadn’t recognised the stainless steel blade and the scuffs and scrapes on the black handle, then he certainly recognised the eyes of the girl as she glanced behind her then began to creep forward towards Hugo. Bandana tied across her lower face or no, that caramel skin and those honey brown eyes and dark choppy layers in her ponytail practically screamed at him.

With that, Carlos stood and strode towards her on light feet, hand darting forward to wrap around her ponytail. With a grunt he yanked her back and upwards until her back crashed into him. His left hand dropped the gun before he seized her wrist and squeezed harshly. Her scream of shock had only been slightly muffled by the bandana, but he didn’t bother to look over his shoulder to monitor the muertos, too enraged.

“And what the _fuck_ ,” Carlos spat, “do you think you’re doing here?”

**< <<O>>>**

“It’s been fucking hours, Bella!” I raged, dumping the contents of my small hiking backpack onto the bed. “Either they’ve managed to get themselves penned in somewhere, killed, captured, or they went to pick up a stash and left us behind. Whatever actually happened, we need more food and you need vitamins urgently.”

“Ana don’t! You know what’ll happen if they get back and find you-”

“Gone? It’s worth the risk Bell.”

I darted past my heavily pregnant older sister to move into the living space of the shitty cabin. Headed right for the sink, I leaned down to rifle through the cardboard box underneath it. I pulled out a water bottle and a few granola bars along with a sample sachet of peanut butter and threw it into the now empty bag. My next goal was the limp and musty couch which had been pushed up against the wall to provide more floor space.

Screwing up my face at the smell of damp and dust, I rammed my arm elbow deep into the crevice between the two cushions, groping blindly for the knife and coil of climbing rope I had stolen from Carlos’s personal supply one day after a hurried evacuation from our last hideout. It was easy to pretend the items had merely been lost or left behind in the rush.

Having packed the rope away, the tactical knife was secured in the brown leather belt that held up a pair of black too big skinny jeans with my shirt pulled over it. The ratty AC/DC tee was the only article of clothing from my original outfit that had survived those first days of the outbreak in Atlanta. The shorts had been ditched as soon as we realised bites and therefore saliva was the main transmission vector for the virus, and my tennis shoes were prone to slipping and causing blisters even on the sidewalk and were also discarded.

I straightened up to find my sister gazing at me, one of her dry hands planted against the wall to help hold the weight of her swollen belly. If my counting of the days were right, she only had a little over a month left until she was due to bring the little monster into the world. And Carlos still refused to listen to my warnings about stockpiling baby supplies.

“What?” I sighed after a few seconds of tense quiet.

“Don’t, Ana. Please. He’ll be so mad, and he was just starting to forgive you…”

“What, by not throwing me around every time I decided to breathe in his direction? I told him to get rid of those muertos down at the pond two weeks ago, yet it was my fault they decided to break through the window in the middle of the night while he was busy busting a nut? Fuck off Bella.”

My harsh tone and eye roll seemed to cow her, and she examined the floor while I threw my choppy hair into a ponytail before diagonally folding a black bandana and placing it over my nose before tying it at the nape of my neck. This way everything below my eyes was hidden: preventing me both from being recognised at a distance, and minimising the amount of skin open for being splattered by muertos gunk. I had just bent to pick up my backpack, when-

“I won’t be able to stop him next time you know?”

I froze for a second, and then slowly rose to stand upright again. My eyes were glued to her blank face while my fisted hand tightened around the strap I held.

“Stop him from kicking me out, or killing me?”

Her lack of answer spoke volumes, and I exhaled sharply.

“I don’t care Bella; I don’t even want you to try anymore. I’m only sticking around here for my niece or nephew. It’s not like anyone else in this fucking hovel seems to care we have a newborn arriving in this hellhole in around four weeks. If I could get away with it I’d grab the baby, rob you blind and run away. But I can’t. So I’ll stay for as long as I can handle Carlos and his bullshit, then I’m gone.”

I counted the conversation closed when I strode from the hut, firmly shutting the door in my wake. I wasn’t stupid enough to slam it just to prove a point. If muertos swarmed the place because of the noise while every able bodied person was miles away, Bella might as well open the door and walk willingly into the middle of them. I doubted the building could hold up against a crowd of them for long with only a door and some boarded up holes instead of windows in their way.

And it wasn’t as if Bella was in any shape to perform evasive or offensive manoeuvres: she could barely walk out of the bedroom without leaning on a wall or three.

I granted myself a few minutes of reflection before I switched into survival mode as I set off at a jog into the tree line. I stayed under cover of the trees, but close enough to the thin dirt path to follow the faint tire tracks of Hugo’s pick-up truck. I was confident that knew the route to the nearby town well enough, but there was no harm in taking extra precaution.

There weren’t many muertos in the woods, and any I did see were far enough away that I could run past without slowing my pace too much. By the time I reached the first few shops at the town’s perimeter, the sun had started to dip past the tree canopy and cast long charcoal shadows in the low reddish light of dusk.

I was firmly pulled to a halt when the moaning and shuffling of a muertos horde broke through to my conscious level of thought. Hastily backpedalling, I crouched behind a tree as I surveyed the streets. It didn’t take long to estimate around a hundred of the creatures lurking on the main thoroughfare, wandering in and out of buildings, up and down the sidewalk, or pressing their ugly faces against the windows of establishments with the insurmountable barrier of closed doors.

It took a little while longer to recognise Hugo’s rusted navy Chevy backed into an alley between a run-down ‘small town’ cinema and what seemed to be some sort of rustic cafe. That was enough proof for me to assume that the group of muertos had snuck up on them, and they were stuck inside somewhere until it cleared up somewhat.

With any entrance via the street closed off, I decided to scale the tree I was hidden behind and see if any of the buildings had either roof access, or an open window that I could try to hang down into. Most of the buildings were close enough together that if I could get into one of the upper levels, I could lean across the gap and climb into another building provided it had open windows.

Several long minutes were spent quietly shimmying up the trunk of the tree with the help of the rope I had packed before I made it high enough to wrap my arms around sturdy branches. It was a simple matter after that to get to a high vantage point, and notice several skylights in the roof of one of the low lying buildings – probably some kind of 24/7 corner store.

I spent another undetermined length of time carefully edging my weight from one tree to the next, until I was finally perched in one close enough to the store that I could hang from one of the out stretched branches and drop to the roof. I did as much, ignoring the burning in my palms as I hung from the limb and waited until there was a slight lull in the muertos crowded around the front.

I let go and landed with a slight heavy thump. Cringing, I held perfectly still until I was sure that the muertos banging at the front windows didn’t seem freshly agitated by my arrival. I inched along the roof with light steps until I reached one of the thick panes of glass, thanking any higher power I could think of that the latch was unlocked and well-greased.

I tied a loop into the rope I had draped over my shoulders, and slid it over some kind of exhaust pipe which jutted out of the ground only a few feet from my intended entrance/exit point. I gave the rope a few cautious tugs before hauling against it with all of my weight. Once satisfied it would hold my weight well enough to allow me to climb up and out of the store, I cranked open the skylight and dropped the rope down to the floor.

‘ _Well,_ ’ I thought as I spun round and began my descent over the edge of the hole, ‘ _let’s just hope there aren’t too many muertos inside…_ ’


	3. I - First Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of blood, vomit, and a scene of violence (abuse). I hope you enjoy this chapter despite that, as we get some Ana/Hugo bonding time as well as our first glimpse of the main man himself! :)

The only other sound to be heard over the rustling of the wind through leaves was the crackling and popping of the campfire as it ate away at yet another branch. Wisps of steam mixed with the smoke as the slightly damp length of wood was rapidly dried before smouldering to life.

My eyes were blank and hazy as I eyed the scrap of meat speared onto the end of the stick I held, ignoring the burning in my arm which only led down to a more intense grating in my ribcage. But I held my focus, analysing the protein as I rotated the twig. It still looked too pink, charring aside, and I didn’t want to risk catching something just because I was impatient.

I took a quick moment to do a quick mental inventory, if just to give me something to distract myself with. My restricted jarring breaths were the first thing that cut through my fog so I decided to start there.

After Carlos had grabbed me he had launched a veritable suicide mission in a mad dash back to Hugo’s truck in order to get home as fast as possible,  essentially having to drag me over the threshold kicking and screaming.

It wasn’t as though I hadn’t expected the hit to come, but when it did I was sent hurtling into the sofa, gut catching on the arm of the chair and winding me as I went sprawling across it. My vision had been spotty and fuzzy after the gun had connected with my temple, and the risk symptoms of a concussion (albeit mild) appearing that early in the beating hadn’t been a good sign.

I had then been pulled up by my hair, hanging just low enough that I couldn’t get my feet comfortably underneath me to relieve the pressure on my scalp. I connected with the walls, counters, supplies, the floor, my face slowly getting more bruised and swollen as my vision became clouded by tears and blood. It was when I was finally lying prone on the floor practically unable to swallow for the pain in my neck and head that the stomping and yelling really started.

It was my fault that I had distracted them in town which meant they now didn’t have enough supplies for the next few days: stomach. It was my fault that he had thrown me onto a shoe box and crushed almost every sleeve of crackers inside: ribs. It was my fault that I was now incapacitated and a liability to the group: head. If I only I could just listen to what he said, then nothing would go wrong and maybe all of their lives wouldn’t be at risk.

He had delivered a last kick to my mid-section, and the sickening tsunami of pain that rolled over me had caused my mouth to open in a gasp only to be beaten by a rush of pinkish vomit that spilled out onto the floor under my head, very nearly choking me as I desperately tried to get enough air into my lungs around the swelling in my throat and the fire consuming my rib cage and torso.

Carlos obviously decided that the lesson had been learned, and just strolled on through to the bedroom to greet Bella and jump in bed to rest up for the night. While I floated on the brink of unconsciousness with pain dominating every sensory input and hindering even the most fleeting thought, I heard Hugo shuffling around the cabin, probably cleaning up the mess that had been left behind but giving me and my pool of blood and vomit a wide berth.

I couldn’t be sure when exactly I had passed out, but I woke up to shouting, hurried footfalls, and what sounded like thunder. I had been cleaned up and moved onto the sofa, duct tape hastily crossed across the right side of my ribs in a rigid layer. I had met the eyes of Hugo across the room in the rush, even as he was shoving loose supplies into a sleeping bag we had lost the roll cover to in order to utilise it as some sort of knapsack.

And while Carlos decided to pick up all the weapons and food he could carry (aside from the gun which he grudgingly relinquished to Bella), Hugo grabbed the tent and backpacks full of clothes, matches, and first-aid supplies and handed them off to me after I was pulled to my unsteady feet. All of these supplies were vital but extremely lightweight, and Hugo helped me to stumble along with the burden even while he was lugging along several jugs of water and a carrier of random dried food items. Although it turned out in the end that Carlos had managed to lose his food.

All of it.

We had broken through the front door of the cabin in a hail of shaky cover fire from Bella while Carlos cleaved us a clear path through the ravenous muertos horde and into the encroaching tree line. Hugo backed the group and seemed to take every successful connection with a muertos skull as some great personal victory.

I am still unsure as to how exactly a heavily pregnant woman and a walking injury delirious from pain and fear managed to high tail it miles into the wood in the pitch darkness over uneven terrain, trawl across a river under the weight of our respective burdens, and keep going without any significant pause until the early hours before dawn.

Granted, we had then been passed out until the evening until the smell of smoke from the fire had managed to rouse us, but the trip should’ve have killed at least one of us.

“Hey, you okay...?”

Having been effectively snapped out of my morbid recollection, I sucked in a deep breath and shifted my weight slightly. I didn’t look up, but I didn’t move away when Hugo decided to lower himself to the ground next to me. We sat in awkward silence while he waited for a response, and I waited for him to tell me why he was really here.

“Listen…” he croaked, clearing his throat uncomfortably then plunging right back in. “I’m sorry about Carlos-”

“Not your fault.”

“Maybe, but I don’t do anything to stop him either. So I’m sorry anyway.”

I had no idea what to say that wouldn’t come across as rude or bitchy, so I decided on a strange shrug-nod and pulled my stick away from the fire in order to use eating as a distraction. Theoretical parasite be damned.

Pulling my sleeve up over my hand, I carefully slid the steaming chunk of meat off onto my leg before dropping the wood into the fire. I burned my fingers a little pulling the morsel open, but I figured it was worth it after satisfied that the meat was ‘cooked’ all the way through. Not that the outside could really have survived anymore blackening; it looked carcinogenic enough already.

“That squirrel looks pretty good Ana. Maybe you should take over from Bella, the lot she did at lunch was still bloody in some places.”

“Oh yay, another job for me to do,” I grouched, shoving a scrap of the squirrel (yuck) between my teeth before I could say anything else.

“I wasn’t- I was joking…” Hugo muttered, scratching at his jaw in a nervous tic he had picked up since denied the luxury of shaving.

“Carlos would probably expect me to, the dick,” I mumbled between chews. “Makes Bella cook and wash the clothes, has you out hunting fucking squirrels and hedgehogs rather than looking for a place to stay, he’s got me chopping firewood and doing all sorts of random shit even after he used my ribs as a xylophone, all while he lounges around and ‘does inventory’. Of what; the fucking pinecones in the clearing?”

“He’s… he’s just as scared as we are Ana, you know that right? He’s gonna have a kid to take care of as well as the rest of us in a couple weeks, and yet our only safe place has been overrun and here we are camped in the forest with one two man tent for the four of us. It’s only been two days but we’re already struggling.”

“Yeah well, whose fault is it that he attracted the muertos in the first place?” I spat, my glare fixed on the fire.

“Not the point. Look, we’re all eyeball deep in shit here and he’s doing the best he can. He didn’t ask for any of this: a kid, the role as leader, any of it. But it’s what he’s got and we need to suck it up. We’re still alive right?”

“Depends on what you count as being alive…” My tone was low and resigned; I knew Hugo was right, but it didn’t mean I was going to pretend to sound or act for one second like I was happy with the fact.

“Don’t-”

He abruptly stopped speaking in response to a quiet groaning that began to seep through the clearing, causing the both of us to lock up as a wave of cold fear rushed over us.

“Fuck! How have they stumbled across us already?!” I hissed as I half rose from my sitting position into a low crouch, head turning this way and that in a desperate attempt to pinpoint the source of the noise. “I don’t think they’ve just wandered onto us: it doesn’t sound like it’s just a few stragglers heading the pack. They’ve been fucking trailing us this whole time!”

“Shit. Shit!” Hugo breathed, hand flying to his crowbar in a desperate panic. “We need to get Carlos and Bella and get packed up and moving. I told him we should’ve circled around back through to town.”

“Too late for that shit now. Just grab the little water and food we have left, I’ll get those two and then get-!”

A piercing scream rent the night air, and both Hugo’s head and mine whipped towards the source. Carlos’ tent. Our wide eyes locked on the face of the other, the circumstances looking more and more hopeless with each passing second.

“You’re kidding…” I mumbled, looking back to the tent in despair, tears prickling into my eyes.

“GO!” Hugo roared, all pretence at a subtle escape lost to us now. “Just get them and let’s fucking go! My backpack has everything else we need!”

I wasted no time in confirming his order. I ran for the tent, hastily ripping the zip to the entrance flap open even as my hands quaked and fumbled. The scene I witnessed inside had my heart plummeting. Bella was curled over and writhing on a sleeping bag while Carlos was knelt over her, concern and confusion the prevalent emotions on his face. He snapped his head around to face me, a spark of anger flickering to life in his eyes.

“Giuliana, what-?”

“The horde is here, we need to fucking go. Get her up, carry her if you have to, but we need to move and fast.” I spat, lunging past them to scrabble in the back corner of the tent. I tugged Hugo’s ridiculously bulging backpack towards me and slung it onto my back, making a split second decision and snatching up Carlos’ gun and map case as well. I ignored his yelled protests and waddled in a crawl from the tent, some sort of hysteric giggle bubbling over my lips as I thought absurdly of the overlarge backpack I wore mimicking a tortoise shell.

I ignored the hot tears that finally spilled over as I noted the volume increase of the muertos’ groans even over that short span of time. Hugo had already dashed over, having collected all the bare essentials into a type of duffle which he had thrown over his back like one would with a backpack, but the body of it ran the full length of his back.

“Ana, what do you reckon your top sustainable speed is?”

“A fast jog if I really grit my teeth and push through. But the second we stop everything will just catch up and wipe me out of commission.” I admitted, although I was confident that the level of adrenaline coursing through me would help to alleviate enough of the burning in my body to allow me to cope with the journey to come.

“That’s more than enough. You take point with Carlos while we try to put some distance between us and them. He’ll probably burn out after carrying Bella for a mile or so, so you can afford to slow down a little but no one can get away with stopping. Even if we have to continue at a walk for half an hour, we have to stay moving okay? Even through the night. This is a fight to stay alive right now, and I don’t plan to sleep on any opportunity to get even a metre further away from them.”

I nodded in grim agreement, not turning to look behind me as I heard Carlos stumble from the confines of the tent presumably encumbered by the added weight of my sister who seemed to be showing signs of either contractions or some other urgent issue that we couldn’t afford to focus on now. And deep down the fact that I had to brush her off in order to stay focused and not fall to pieces killed me.

“Follow the sunset West; I’ll be right behind you. Now go!”

Making a sharp turn right I set off at a slow run with Carlos right beside me, both of our paces shuddering and fluctuating as we fought to hit a rhythm while dodging trees and shrubs and trying to achieve good footing. I kept my eyes ahead and my focus set solely on the tree line and the sun already dipping closer to the horizon. I could hear the thudding of our footsteps, our panting for air, and the call of the muertos rolling through the woods behind us.

We ran, and ran, and ran. Bella was crying, her voice strangled by half feral screams of pain that only served to renew the muertos’ interest in the chase. Carlos began to stumble and teeter, slowing drastically as the light died and we were left running blind. Hugo eventually caught up to jog alongside us, falling back every now and then to check on the distance between the muertos and us.

It wasn’t until we reached a thinning in the trees that our luck finally started to look up. We broke out onto a plain of grass, weakly lit by the light of the moon. I surged forwards, eyes straining to pick out the shape of faint figures as they blossomed from the darkness while I made out the faint sound of raised voices.

“-no idea what I can live with; what I live with! You wanna talk about what I can do, Rick? How ‘bout what you can do, here I am! C’mon man raise your gun…”

“No. No I will-!”

“What happened Rick? I thought you weren’t the good guy anymore, ain’t that what you said? Even right here right now you ain’t gonna fight for him? I’m a better-!”

Bella’s hoarse yell of pain managed to catch their attention, although I wasn’t really sure how our harsh breaths and clomping footfalls hadn’t. The bald one lowered his gun, face eerily blank and pointed to us while the other man whirled around, hand flashing to a weapon.

“Who are you?” he barked, rich Southern twang oddly calming even while his voice was tight with stress.

“Doesn’t matter who we are!” Hugo snapped as we drew to a stop in front of them. “There’s a herd of two hundred odd muertos on our tail, we need to keep moving.”

“Two hundred what? Just hold on a minute…” The man, Rick I think he was called, shook his head as though to clear it, while his gaze skated over our forms. He locked onto Bella who was still panting harshly and curled in on herself, and something haunted drifted into his eyes before the shutters seemed to slam closed. “We’ve got a group up at the farmhouse, if we get back there we can probably discuss-”

“There isn’t time!” My voice was shockingly weak even as I tried to shout, and I hard to blink hard as a wave of fire swept across my ribs and slammed into my throat. “We have to… have…”

I knew the night was dark, and what little moonlight breached the thick clouds could only illuminate things at a close distance, but even the two men and the rest of my little family were suddenly swallowed by the inky darkness. Everything was aching and trembling, and my knees violently quaked before one gave way and I staggered sideways.

“Hey, what-?”

“ANA!”

I went down hard and the impact of my already fragile right side slamming into the thin grass and hard ground prompted enough pain to wrench a groan from my lips and send me hurtling swiftly into unconsciousness.


	4. II - Guardian Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooo sorry for the delay on this chapter: Ive just started Sixth Form and the content level and workload is nuts. The amount of breakdowns over Maths Ive had in the past two weeks ALONE-! But anyway~ I bring to you a Shane POV chapter in the hope that you guys wont be too mad at me. I brought a teeny bit of group angst into the chapter to help set up a broader web dynamic spanning as many characters as possible, and also tried to go for a new spin on why Shane did what he did (because I really dont think our baby is a truly bad guy T.T) but let me know what you think! Hope you all enjoy this and as always, comments and constructive feedback are forever welcomed.
> 
> Merry Christmas all, and have fun reading!

** Shane’s POV **

This is not how he had seen the night playing out.

Not at all.

It had taken a great amount of luck and the helping hand of a plan to get Randall out of that shed and into the woods. Snapping his neck and faking the necessary injuries had been a far simpler job, and upon his return back to the farm he was almost surprised that Rick hadn’t called him out right then and there.

The confusion; the suspicion; the dawning _fear_ in his oldest friend’s eyes while they had been locked in that stare down had sealed his plan. Shane hadn’t been sure if it was the burning from his broken nose or the wash of guilt that had him blinking and glancing away though.

It wasn’t guilt for what he was about to stage though. From an outsiders perspective his actions would all clearly point to a resentment of Rick and his return, resulting in a cold blooded attempt to force him out of the picture. But that was what he was banking on.

Shane could grudgingly put his hands up and say for a while there he had hated Rick, just slightly. He was always the favoured one. He got the position as Sheriff, he had the wife and son, the perfect suburban lifestyle Shane could only dream of: and even after the fucking world had ended Rick Grimes managed to rock up out of the blue and take away everything that had validated him, kept him grounded.

 **Shane** was the one Lori had come crying to, entrusting him with the safety of her and her son. **Shane** was the one who tried to keep up Carl’s spirits while also subtly teaching him as many survival skills as he could. **Shane** was the one who strangers had turned to in their time of grief and panic, looking for answers and protection and leadership. **Shane** was the one who made the hard decisions for the safety of all of them, and had been doing at least a decent job at it. Shane was the one who was shunted into irrelevance the moment **Rick** came crawling back.

That feeling died almost as soon as it had come though. Rick was his best friend and not even the apocalypse could change that. It had changed him though, and soon after the group’s departure from the quarry he had started having doubts. Why was he even there? The group had their leader, Lori had her husband back, Carl had his father and rightful protector, no one else wanted him, he had no purpose. The events at the CDC had only confirmed his ever growing fear, that there was no cure, no hope. That every last one of them was well and truly fucked.

And then it had happened.

Carl had been shot, and everything was falling to pieces, and the closest thing that Shane had ever had to a family was in turmoil and his stand in son was going to die and no one wanted to make the tough call-

So he had sacrificed Otis for Carl, because the Grimes’ were all he had linking him to his humanity, because he would do anything for them but in the process he had become so dark and bitter and twisted and he just wanted to run away, to stop everything in place, to go back to being Deputy Shane Walsh when his only real daily struggle was deciding what to eat that night after a long shift…

From then, his mindset had taken a plummet into a deep dark abyss he was certain he could never truly leave. Even on the best day he would still be perched at the very edge, ankles grazed by the suffocating black, roaring winds and sucking gravity all too eager to pitch him back to the bottom.

So he had orchestrated to be removed from the picture. Pissing off as many people as possible while still, _still_ trying to keep them safe. Giving Rick reason after reason to distrust him while still unwilling to lose the bond with his friend. And while some of it had backfired and caused some collateral, it had still ended in a tense stand-off in the grass at midnight, with Rick armed and wary and building up both the courage and strategy to effectively terminate him, while he pointed a gun loaded with blanks at his friend.

At his brother.

And then that rag tag group of survivors had blindsided them, spluttering about a herd of what could only be walkers coming up right on their tail. A shiver of fear had bolted through Shane; he hadn’t wanted to die at the hands of a walker and turn, but if that was what it took…

Rick was shaken by the writhing pregnant woman being carried, and quickly offered to bring them up to the farmhouse. The cop in him had taken over, thus forgetting all about Shane in the quest to help these strangers, so while more words were exchanged he had planned to slip away and structure his demise in some way that the group knew not to coming looking for him on some doomed rescue mission.

That was when the girl had collapsed, slamming into the ground with a hoarse cry of pain. The man who had warned them initially yelled her name in panic, which only caused the pregnant lady to shriek and flail more, doing no one any favours.

Practically on autopilot, Shane strode forward and gently shifted the girl into his arms. He noted her inflamed right side and the harsh yet shallow pull of her laboured breathing, the clammy heat clinging to her skin more concerning than the spread of dark angry bruising that painted most of her flesh. He knew the patterns of blunt force trauma, specifically those caused by fists, feet, or other objects used to inflict harm on another.

He said nothing.

They had all however taken this as some sort of signal to pick up and go. Rick led the party up the field towards the farm house, his gun drawn and senses on high alert. The more Shane focused the more certain he became that the sound the wind carried up from the forest was made up of the moans and shuffling gait of the undead.

As soon as the farmhouse came into sight Rick was on autopilot. Yelling to get everyone awake and alert; getting people to bring the vehicles round; packing clothes and supplies into boxes and bags; collecting weapons and distributing them amongst any who could wield them effectively.

“How many of you are there..?” the tallest male breathed out, gazing around at the suddenly lively building in confused awe.

“Enough,” Shane grit out after carefully readjusting the girl in his arms when she began to whine and writhe in pain. He began to scan the bustling figures trailing in and out of the house, searching for the faces of Lori and Carl while Rick dashed forward to help Herschel into the back of one of the cars that had just pulled up. Shane had just spotted Lori’s long mop of chestnut hair when he registered several noises simultaneously.

First, the slamming of several car doors swiftly followed by an enraged yell and a muted thump. Secondly the choked groan from the girl curled into his chest as a muffled scream of her name reached their ears. Third the spluttering of a car engine and the ripping of tires digging into loose gravel. And fourth, by far the most concerning, the groaning of walkers as the entire herd crested the hill behind him and began to converge upon them.

Shane’s brain managed to process the two strange men dashing to the car and jumping inside, pushing Andrea to the ground to do so, the talkative one suddenly calling out for this ‘Ana’ and hammering on the car window while the engine revved to life, all in the space of about fifteen seconds as Shane spun around to catalogue the distance between the group and the walkers.

“NO!” Several members of the group had dashed forwards in an attempt to hem in the car, but the wheels has caught purchase and Glenn had to dive out of the way as it tore down the dirt path and away into the darkness.

A frantic fog seemed to settle in over the farmhouse as people tore up and down the stairs, throwing resources out of windows as they upended the house in the attempt to make an organised escape. Shane kept careful watch on the approaching front line, rendered useless in the gathering effort by the injured woman in his arms, but a possessive node somewhere in the back of his brain screaming out in loathing at the prospect of setting her down in her state just to become an afterthought in the cloud of sheer primal panic oozing from everyone in the vicinity.

Never had Shane hated himself more than when the first walkers started to haul themselves over the last fence in their way and he had started to shift the deadweight in his arms to reach for his gun, only to remember that they were loaded with blanks. He cussed himself to high heaven as he started to back away, hearing the systematic opening and closing of car doors behind him as people started to pile into the vehicles.

Hearing a pause in activity he finally made a 180 turn and sprinted for the truck nearest him, only to see the bed full of precariously piled goods, and the two seats in the cab occupied by a hugely overstuffed bag, Carl, Lori and Rick. They met eyes as Rick started the engine and Shane’s expression and spirit shattered as he registered the pain, guilt and welling of tears there, even as the convoy of vehicles made a break for it, the resulting haze of dust fucking with his vision.

“No.. No Rick, PLEASE-!”

And while Lori kept her and Carl’s faces resolutely downwards, Rick set his jaw and slammed the truck into gear, peeling off down the dirt track after the closest pair of headlights, one small pothole in the road jerking the back of the truck and sending one small bag hurtling out of the bed and onto the side of the road. Shane screamed out every profanity and blasphemy knew in as many languages he could recall while he powered towards the bag, hands still desperately clenched onto the clothing of the unconscious ‘Ana’.

He let go of her legs briefly to snag the backpack and swing it onto his shoulder before reaffirming his hold and curling over her. Barrelling down the road like a football player, mindful of the grip his feet had on the earth, of the gradually fading snarling behind him, of the glow of a large column of thick smoke in the near distance, obviously under lit by its source and standing as a beacon in the night sky.

He ran for longer than he could keep accurate track of, slowing to a jog as soon as he put enough distance between the walkers and himself but constantly scanning the darkness for any small sign of shelter. As they made it closer and closer to the highway with no sign of a natural hideaway, Shane resigned himself to the fate of searching for an abandoned car they could hunker down in for the night.

Making a last concentrated effort he powered up the steep hill to the highway dividers, carefully hopping over the metal and depositing his charge on the ground behind a lone car door that been propped up against the side of a lorry wheel to create a small alcove. He drew his backup knife from the pocket of his pants and made a quick scan for drifting walkers while approaching the first car, a long five seat sedan with rear seat backs that could be pulled forwards for direct access to the trunk space. By some miracle of luck the left rear door came open after a heave, and Shane hastily dove forward to pull the seats down, eyes scouring the trunk and mentally slotting both his and the woman’s bodies into the space.

After pulling out a large cardboard box hall full of various somethings and shoving it onto the driver’s seat, he backed out of the car and headed back to Ana in a stooped run. He scooped her up into his arms again and dashed back to the sedan, hauling her inside with him and shutting the door.

Then began the panicked and somewhat morbidly hilarious game of Tetris Shane had to play in the enclosed space to pull the seats down, and back himself into the trunk with Ana pressed against his front while trying to keep his knife in his dominant hand without stabbing either of them. Eventually he managed it and withdrew his foot from the seat backs, letting it slam closed in front of them and plunge the trunk into pitch blackness and the close sound of harsh breathing; one set tired and forcefully even, the other weak and laboured.

No matter how hard he tried, his adrenaline levels were beginning to plummet and drag his conscious mind down into the depths with them. Shane caught himself nodding every now and then, jerking his head back upright and tightening his grip on the knife handle as if the strength of his hold was somehow linked to his tether on the real world.

_But he was just so tired, and she was just so soft…_

And so he passed out, curled around a stranger in the trunk of a car while the horde swarmed around them not three feet away; both totally oblivious and lost to the realms of darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> (Rating will change!!!)
> 
> This is something that I'll work on when I have time, so no promises as to when I'll update. I'll try to keep chapters fairly long, and if anyone has queries or suggestions on things that work/don't work please leave them in the comments. Constructive criticism is the best criticism.


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